Then midnight deepens withHis subject cloudsThe monks to the respectiveCellsHasten their casement closeYetWithin just a few hoursTo open the casements yet againOn the new Dawn*The Poet SeerAh! the old cunning Poet SeerLike wine he bettered moreAnd moreAs his hair grayedThen whitenedThen his back arched andBentA littleFrom the studious daysSince childhood uninterruptedThe Poet Seer

As with a magic wandHis tongue and brainAs Prospero and MerlinFrom scene to sceneHe takes us at his WillIn ever-increasing beauty.

AndThenWe utter ‘O’As the night curtains fallAnd with another swingAs yet of wandUshers heThe new Dawn.